


The Victors

by fraternite



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hunger Games crossover, but it's the hunger games and les mis so i'm sure it'll get there, nothing graphic yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:42:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraternite/pseuds/fraternite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eponine emerged as the victor of the Hunger Games, she thought the greatest challenge of her life was over.  Little did she know, her hell was just beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Victors

She spent the morning of the Reaping Day thinking only of herself.  Afterward, she would hate herself for it; it was one of many things that kept her lying awake in the middle of the night, wishing she could take back the past and do things over.  She had been so selfish, turning all her concern on herself--who had nothing to be protected from, nothing but memories--instead of spending it on the one who had

But at the time, it seemed natural.  The memory of her own Reaping was still so fresh; only one year later, there were no other Reaping Days to cover it up, and the day played over and over in her head that morning as she got ready.  The way she’d woken up, gripped with terror, in the still-dark of the early morning.  Losing the little breakfast she’d managed to choke down behind the shed and then dry heaving, her insides wrung out with panic, until she was trembling and clinging to the wall.  Hearing the Capital lady’s clipped voice mangle her name--”Eponine Tennarder”--and still from the very first syllable, she’d known it was her.  How alone, and how empty she’d felt as she walked up to the stage, some distant part of her surprised that she could even stand.  Thinking, when huge mine-worker Thomas Cann was called up for the male tribute, _That’s it for me, I’m dead._ \--because even if it were just the two of them, it was obvious who the survivor would be.  (Thomas died on the second day, skewered through the heart by the boy from Four as he struggled in the net the boy had hidden.)  There were so many memories clamoring at Eponine, even from that very first day of the nightmare, and so raw.  She didn’t know any way to shield herself against them.

And Zel’s name wasn’t in the lottery.

She was the sister of a victor.  Hadn’t they spent the last year living in the big house with polished floors in the sad, empty Victors’ Village?  Hadn’t she eaten well even in the winter, thanks to the extra food Eponine had won them?  And the third part of the deal was that none of them--neither Eponine herself nor any of her siblings--would ever be entered in the lottery again.  There was absolutely no chance of Azelma’s name would be drawn.

Only it was.

The lady from the Capital--Trillian Casual--read it out: “Azelma Thenardier.”  And after a moment of shocked silence, Azelma got up from her seat (a seat in the special Victors section, not even in the main area, this shouldn’t be happening, how was it even happening?) and, ducking her head in that way she had, made her way up to the stage.  And she stumbled on the second step from the top and already the scream was rising up in Eponine’s throat, even though her mind hadn’t yet processed what was happening because it was impossible, _Zel’s name wasn’t even in the lottery._  And Trillian took Zel by the elbow and helped her up the stairs and even her quiet murmur of “Are you all right, my dear?” was amplified and echoed around the square, but Zel’s tiny “Mm hm,” was barely audible.  And then Eponine was screaming “No, no no you can’t you _can’t_ she isn’t in this they _promised_ ,” shoving her way toward the stage, falling over the stupid folding chairs they’d set up in the Victors’ section, shouting for them to stop it, to wait, to fix it because it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t possible.

Heavy hands closed over her arms and even as they pulled her away she saw Trillian was already moving on, her hand stirring the bowl of boys’ names.  It all happened so fast, there was no time to stop it, no time to--

But that was a lie.  It was a lie she told herself over and over again, in the weeks and months afterward, but when she woke in the darkness at 2 am night after night she couldn’t hold the lie up anymore.  The truth was, it didn’t happen fast.  It happened slowly, so slowly that she had the chance to notice every detail and understand everything.  She had hundreds of thousands of moments and every moment she made the same decision.  And it was that decision, even more than her focus on herself in the hours before the Reaping, that kept her lying awake, sobbing into her pillow.  She could have volunteered.  She could have taken Azelma’s place in the arena.  She’d survived it once, maybe she could survive it again.  She would at least have had a chance.  Zel didn’t, and Eponine knew that, knew that if they sent her sister into the arena, she would not be coming out.

But still she didn’t volunteer.  She screamed that it was unfair, that it was illegal, that it was impossible--everything _except_ the two words that would save her sister.

**Author's Note:**

> This part, at least will be continued. I might take the story farther and include the other Amis (who are also victors from the games in this AU). I have some long-term plans for them but I will only keep working on it as long as I'm having fun because otherwise what's the point?


End file.
